


Go home, Chamaco

by wheresmyfemurhector



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Alcohol, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Family, Family Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, coco - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-28
Updated: 2019-01-28
Packaged: 2019-10-17 23:26:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17569937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheresmyfemurhector/pseuds/wheresmyfemurhector
Summary: A short little fict in which Miguel needs a little advice from Hector. Hector isn't too happy about how he got to the land of the dead, but still gives the best advice he can give.





	Go home, Chamaco

**Author's Note:**

> My first fict posted on here! Short and sweet! An idea I had while chatting with one of my close tumblr friends, on here known as; hTeDruknenPotaT.

Bright lights swirled around Miguel as he stumbled around the plaza. The music and voices filling the air were distorted, not that Miguel had been paying attention to them anyway. His feet dragged beneath him as he tried to walk home. His left hand dragged across walls and shop windows to keep his balance. In his right hand a bottle of tequila that was nearly empty. Drinking an entire bottle of tequila wasn’t the smartest move, but Miguel knew what he had been doing.  
“Miguel! Ay muchacho, you need a hand?” A distorted voice called after him. .   
“I’m… I’m fine!” Miguel slurred, turning to wave the helpful hand away.   
“Easy niño, cálmese…”   
Miguel didn’t want to be bothered or interrogated by the stranger. But before he could retort he had doubled over to involuntarily vomit, hand clutching to his stomach. Everything around him seemed to swirl faster and faster. Miguel could hear the stranger calling for an ambulance in a panic, voices surrounding him.   
“Isn’t that Miguel Rivera?”   
“Hey, that’s the Rivera boy!”  
“Someone call Enrique and Luisa!”   
“This is how all musicians fall!” 

Miguel’s eyes fluttered open, focusing on the skeletons around him. He was back in the Land of the Dead! Gasping he looked down at his hands, noticing they were not skeletal… He reached up and patted his face, feeling that he definitely still had cheeks and skin all over. Ignoring the questioning skeletons around him Miguel got up and began to run. He didn’t know where his family lived, but he had to find them. He had to find Hector and make sure he really saved him, then he’d worry about everything else.   
“Dante! Dante!” Miguel yelled while running. “Dante I’m here and I need you!” He came to a halt and looked around him. There were just as many tall buildings and lights as he remembered. It would be impossible to find his family on his own…  
Miguel turned at the sound of barking in the distance, seeing his spirit guide sloppily soaring out of the sky. Dante never did fly gracefully. Dante never did anything gracefully.   
“Dante!” He laughed as Dante crashed into him, knocking him to his ass.   
“Who’s a good spirit guide! You are, Dante!” Miguel wrapped his arms lovingly around his guide, having missed him after so many years.   
“Dante can you bring me to my family? Can you show me where Papá Hector is?”   
The Xolo dog barked and happily wagged his tale excitedly, charging off in a specific direction. Miguel followed close after the Xolo dog, not wanting to lose sight of him. After running a few blocks Dante stopped outside a large home, barking loudly to attract the family members inside.Miguel held onto his wrist nervously, waiting for his family to come out.   
The first out had been Imelda followed by Oscar, Felipe, and everyone else following after. The last out of the house was the face Miguel had been anticipating the most to see. He felt a sense of relief knowing his Papà Hèctor had made it though.   
“What have you done now, Miguel?” Imelda immediately asked, placing her hands to her hips. She wasn’t stupid. Imelda knew by the flesh that her great great grandson wasn’t entirely dead. Maybe he had been cursed again. She almost broke her stern glance at seeing how much he resembled her husband in life.   
“What! Who said I did anything?”  
“Miguel you don’t just show up here, with skin, if you didn’t get yourself cursed again. What did you do?” Imelda uttered, waving her hands as she spoke.   
“I don’t remember. I was walking home, then next thing I knew I was here.” Miguel mumbled wanting to avoid the conversation. He knew Imelda would push for more questions if he didn’t ask quick. “Papà Hèctor! I’m so glad you’re here! I was afraid I didn’t make it in time!”   
Héctor smiled at his little chamaco. A near spitting image of himself, soul patch and all.   
“Ah, Gordito!” He stepped forward to wrap his bony arms around Miguel, squeezing him gently.   
“Chamaco, we’ll figure out how you got here later. Surly there’s a way to send you back again! For now let’s celebrate!” Héctor shouted, guiding Miguel to walk with him. If he knew this kid, he knew that he wasn’t about to spill anything with the whole family around.   
Miguel kept quiet as his Papà Héctor guided him. Héctor happily told him all about how he and Mamà Imelda decided to renew their wedding vows. Explaining how he was just as nervous as the first time he asked her hand in marriage. Told him all about how he’s been teaching the other family members all about music, singing, and dancing.   
“Wow, Papà Héctor, you really turned things around here then.” Miguel added to the conversation, thinking about the one person he hadn’t seen yet. “Is… is Ernesto De La Buttface still under that old bell?”  
“No, buttface is no longer under the bell.” Hèctor sighed. “It’s complicated.” There was something that wasn’t being said, but Miguel figured not to ask. Not right now anyway.   
“Miguel, maybe we could talk more about how you got here.” Héctor asked, sitting on a bench in the family garden. Far away enough from the house that wondering ears couldn’t hear them speaking.   
Miguel sat by his great great grandfather, staring off into the garden. He didn’t want to make eye contact. Héctor was way too good at reading looks.   
“I told you, I don’t remember.”   
“Chamaco, I know that’s not true. I had to lie to so many people for so many years when I was trying to cross that bridge. I know what a lying face looks like.” He crossed his arms, waiting for Miguel to fess up.   
“It was nothing! I just had a bit too much to drink. I am twenty-one after all.”   
“A bit too much? Miguel, a bit too much is a shot or two too many. They don’t send you into some weird half dead coma. Trust me.” He chuckled awkwardly, frowning when he saw Miguel wasn’t laughing with him. There was something more, and Hèctor knew it.   
“I don’t know what to tell you then! Maybe it was more than a little I don’t know. Maybe I have a weak tolerance. Or maybe someone pulled a De La Estúpido and poisoned me!” Miguel laid out the possibilities, none of which earning a reaction from his Papà. He knew the man had been around long enough to catch people in the act of lying. But Miguel wasn’t sure how to tell him… Hell, he wasn’t even sure he fully understood why he did it.   
“Maybe you could start by telling me the truth. Hijo, you can tell me anything. I’ll understand, and we’ll work on it okay?” Hèctor whispered, wrapping an arm carefully around Miguel’s shoulder earning a sigh from the younger adult.   
“I knew how much I was drinking.” He muttered, eyes averted to the ground. “I knew and I couldn’t stop. After a while I just didn’t want to stop.”   
Miguel gripped his hands onto his pants, not wanting to let himself tear up in front of his Papà.   
“You didn’t want to stop? Okay, seguir?” Hèctor motioned his hands wanting his grandson to continue his story. He ignored the phantom heartbreak he could feel in his chest, hating to see his niño so upset.   
“Then… well then I left the bar… I just… i went for a walk. I don’t think I was walking straight, but a nearly a whole bottle of tequila will do that to you. As I was walking I got to thinking. I thought about how crazy my adventure was here when I was twelve. I thought that maybe it was time I come back! I wanted to see you, and the family!” Miguel knew it was no excuse to drink that much. He knew that nearly killing himself wasn’t worth it, especially now that he realizes the possibility of permanent dams he. He expected Hèctor to raise his voice and shout at him. Call him an idiota for being so careless. Instead, he just let out a gentle sigh. Sounding relieved more than anything.   
“Mi hijo, so you weren’t intentionally trying to… extend your stay permanently?”  
“I wasn’t trying to commit suicide, Papà Hèctor! I just wanted to… I don’t know! Be here again, and still get to go home! I didn’t think it all the way through.”   
“No, you didn’t. Chamaco, we get to see you every year on Dia de los Muertos. I know you can’t see us, but we get to see you. I’ve been watching you grow, mature, and become a fine young man each year.” Hèctor leaned over to make eye contact with Miguel. “You don’t need to know how we’re doing. That’s something we can easily catch you up on when it’s your time to be here. As long as the family continues to remember us, we’ll be here to catch you up when you’re a grey old man like Julio! We’re going to make sure you get home, you have too many years left to be here permanently.”   
Miguel turned to hug Hèctor tightly, swallowing hard as a few tears fell. Maybe all he needed was to hear his Papà tell him that he was there…   
“Si.. lo siento mucho… I-I wasn’t thinking! I promise… when I go back I’ll be more careful!” He sniffled, pulling back to wipe his tears on his sleeve.  
“Don’t be sorry, we all make mistakes sometimes. It’s a part of being alive! My mistakes can’t get me killed anymore. Disassembled maybe. But not deader than I am now. You still have organs to keep alive. Don’t beat yourself up over it, if you do, it’s all you’ll think about. Focus on your future when you get back. I expect a new Miguel Rivera original song when I cross over! Pour your feelings into music! Happy, depressed, angry, silly, love struck ~ you can pour your heart into it and come out feeling so much better.” Hèctor grinned, patting Miguel’s back.   
“Thank you Papà Héctor. I needed this…” Miguel felt content. He felt as though a spark that had been lost within him began to glow again. Miguel felt a little guilty for having to be on a fine line of life and death to gain the fire back, but he knew it was what he needed. No one else could have given him advice more meaningful that his great great grandfather!   
The fear of being truly dead crossed his mind. What if he wouldn’t wake up? What if his liver or something gives out before he can wake up! Socorro needed him, his family loved him… He put everyone in a bad spot just so he could hear his Papà…  
“Come on, Chamaco. Let’s find a way to get you home.” Hector stood to his feet and headed back to the house. Confident that once Miguel got home, he’d see a huge improvement on the next dia de los Muertos.


End file.
